Children of Secrets
by Yuruki14
Summary: Darren and Steve haven't been friends since childhood, and Darren is about to discover why. DarrenxSteve
1. Chapter 1

I'm having a hard time at school with my friends right now, and while it's given me motivation to write this chapter, I've incorporated my pain with Darren's… If anything, I hope it makes the story more interesting.

 **Children of Secrets**

 **Chapter 1**

 **First Day of School**

 **August 17** **th** **, 2011**

 _Junior year has finally arrived! Well… starting tomorrow, that is, and while I have all my necessary supplies packed securely in my decrepit, tattered satchel, I can't help but feel winged when I should be jumping from my seat in unsuppressed anxiety. Only two more years and I'll be out of this useless wasteland of a rustic town… Ask me half a decade ago if I minded residing here and maybe I could name a few reasons why I'd stay. Ask me now and I wouldn't be able to surmise one. Not one! Not even my girlfriend of 5 years, Debbie, could keep me here now. Not after everything that's happened._

 _It's not that I'm particularly excited about Junior year, but rather there's a certain rumor that the one person I swore never speak to again won't be there! Nope, said rumor spread around campus like wildfire last May that_ he _got sent away to some military school for beating up an angry upperclassman who gave him shit everyday. I guess the kid thought_ he _couldn't actually kick anyone's ass, although the entire eleventh grade student body could vogue against that accusation. We all knew—still very much know—the truth about that bastard!_

 _Not that I care… I didn't usually see too much of him in school, anyway. Just the idea is nice, I think._

 _Yeah, right, Shan… you're not fooling anyone as much as you're fooling yourself._

A fury of echoing footsteps assault my ears even as I sit in my history class, the only door into the room closed firmly. Evidently, I'm not the only one to be disturbed by the harsh shuffling noises perforating through the concrete and mucilage structure that separates my prison from the repugnance—the other students having already turned their attention to the entrance. Most likely, they're waiting for the unfortunate, tardy slacker to rush through the door, flush-faced and breathless, and get reprimanded by the teacher. Distastefully, in my ever-punctual opinion, our teacher has yet to actually arrive, which is… highly unusual behavior for a uniformed establishment such as this school.

The footfalls come to a rubber-screeching halt when they reach their destination—the doorway into our abode. For one extensive moment, the person inheres to that one spot, assumedly brushing him or herself down to appear presentable after that grueling run, but there's no need. There's no one here of stature to ridicule the kid.

Almost in a fluster of calmness and confidence, the kid airs through the wooden barrier and into our atmosphere. At first, I honestly can't tell who it is, but as I become accustom to the obscured morale of this person, I recognize something about him. Yes, I manage to gather that it's indeed a _he_ with messy blonde hair and dark, foreboding clothing. The way he… carries himself, completely opposing the aura in which he's surrounded, is slack and dispositional—that akin to the character of a juvenile delinquent. Somewhere, I've been exposed to this moral fiber before, and I don't realize that I know exactly where until I get a decent look at the familiar face of _Steve Leonard_ himself.

And in one fraise, this can only result in one possible conclusion: he's in my class.

Steve Leopard is in my class.

I have _history_ with _Steve_ fucking _Leopard._

What kind of stir crazy shit is this?!

"Am I late?" He asks the class.

Wiping at my eyes to inspect for any latent misconceptions is a waste of time because there isn't any doubt that this asshole in front of me is definitely Steve. Who else possesses such a sultry smug tone as he? Briskly, I pivot my head and slink down in my chair to disappear from his peripheral vision. I don't want to chance him seeing me.

However, some celestial coercion beckons me to glance his way once more, and as I do, his azure eyes, so vibrant they're almost ashen in color, lock onto mine. The simple look has my expression morphing into surprised terror, fists clenching at my desks chair. Without breaking eye contact, I crouch down even lower in my seat, succumbing to the intensity of his glare.

A sly upturn of his lips leaves me confused, then he nods at me and whispers an acknowledgment. "Hey there, Shan."

Genuinely happy isn't something I expect him to pretend to put-on, but why is my stomach doing summersaults and the palms of my hands slippery with sweat at just the satisfied grin on his cheeky face? …It makes me sick, so I quickly busy myself with other things, such as doodling on a blank sheet of notebook paper. My mind swipes blank for a few seconds before I focus back into reality and see a word written in truculent penmanship. In my subconscious, there's only one thing that repeats throughout my head when I think of Steve. These letters… this word is it.

 _Betrayal._

While I've never been much into superstition—I'm as far from Ireland as I can get—I can't help but be a bit spooked at my own intuitive action. I mustn't let anyone see this ridiculous memorandum, so I crumble it up, virtually ruining the words so much that no one can read them, and shove it into my worn-out jean pocket. The incident can't have lasted more than five minutes, all the same Steve is still up at the front of the classroom, leaning on some guy's desk talking to the poor soul and a few others.

Well, at least he's leaving me alone.

An unexpected bang of the oak door has almost every one of us jumping from our seats and frantically turning our heads toward… a strange man clad in red. He's carrying an over-used binder filled to the breaking point with documents on one shoulder, an abnormal way of exhibiting oneself to others, but it speaks in volume of the real person he must be… or pretends to be. His flamboyant red suit, messily unkempt yet silky as a web, screams out 'important and classy, but edgy and rebellious'. Full ginger locks slick back stylishly, with stray curls cascading down his forehead here and there, framing his narrow face to perfection.

Green eyes—not mine—cast the class a stern look, and a silky voice, as smooth as his suit, says, "Please take your rightful seats, children." He manages to set his one binder on an other wise bare desk (there isn't even a computer!) and takes his seat, the chair creaks under his adult weight. He eyes us wearily when none of us moves. "Well?"

"Sir," someone chimes. "It's our first day..." Garret Knullem, a boy with hair so red it's almost ablaze, is the one who spoke 's generally a quite person in the classroom, but I can tell his temper has gotten the better of him. And truthfully, I'm a little annoyed myself because the teacher—whatever his name is—should know the basic overview of everything. Then again, maybe he just forgot, so I shouldn't be so abrasive.

Apparently, Mr. Dense doesn't catch on because he just stares at Garret with the most bored expression. Garret decides to explain further in a way that this… seemingly badly-chosen-as-a-teacher teacher can understand. "Sir, we haven't gotten our assigned seats yet. Nor do we know your name."

"Right, right." He stammers after a pause. "Sorry. Call me Mr. Crepsley. Seeing as I have not come up with a seating chart, you all may sit wherever you would like. Whichever seat you choose will be the seat you're stuck with all year, so take your time and choose wisely. Don't sit by someone who is going to get you into trouble."

With the agonizingly slow speed of the lazy teenagers we are, most people go to sit down or move to a different seat to sit closer to friends. Me on the other hand, well I stay where I am. That's not to say I don't have friends in this class—I do, and that Garret kid just happens to be one of them—but something compels me to stay just where I am. And that something just happens to be Steve Leopard taking the desk right… next… to mine.

Now, any logical person would gather up their belongings and split in two seconds flat, but not I. I like to torture myself. Pain gives me pleasure! …But seriously, I have absolutely no idea why, besides that faint pull to remain exactly where I am, I stayed here.

Although… I'm more than shocked when I observe Steve because he doesn't have his usual taunting smirk or that glimmer of devious mirth in his baby blues. Instead, his lips are set in a firm, straight, angry line and his eyes, wide with a little fear, are composed of a glare so intentionally spiteful that I'm surprised the sheer waves of acidic hostility doesn't have every kid and Mr. Crepsley running out the door in fear.

I seem to be the only one who notices, though. Everybody else faces toward his or her neighbors, blabbering up a storm about god knows what while I can visibly see the vein ticking on Mr. Crepsley's forehead. Both him and Steve are about to blow a casket, so to prepare for the explosion, I think it's best to scoot down in my chair and use my desk top as a shield.

"Alright, class, listen up." Soft is his tone, but it hints at dire consequences should anyone not obey. Even Steve, whose glare has disappeared to replace it with a calm and thoughtful demeanor, stops tapping his foot to listen to our teacher. "You may not know this, but this year is my first year teaching. Now, before you all start behaving like rotten hooligans at this knowledge, I am not opposed to giving you all detention for a month.

"Rules of this classroom are: do not speak unless spoken to, do not bring electronics into this classroom, do not bring food or drink, chewing gum in here is strictly forbidden, but most importantly, do not play me as a fool. I have eyes in the back of my head, children. If any of these rules are broken, I will personally see to it that there is an empty spot waiting for you in detention hall. I refuse to put up with any slander, bullying, or inattention… Do I make myself clear, students?"

We all reply with a quick, "yes, sir." Some louder, some quieter, but all reply. We've only known this guy for ten minutes, but there's no denying how frightening this man can be even when he's not actually being that way intentionally.

"Good," he says. "Let's get on with the education part then."

Mr. Crepsley talks like he's from another time… he's so prim and proper and to tell the truth, it makes him very alarming. It's a charming tone set to calm whoever hears it, a graceful roll of the tongue to let every syllable exit his mouth in harmony. Sternness is also present in the pitch, but less so in his normal speech. We did here it while he was giving out our classroom rule, though.

His intimidation doesn't come from one place, however. Any teacher who wears a bright red suit to school deserves a little caution from the students. It's not everyday you see a _teacher_ as eccentric as him. There's also a scar, in the shape of what looks like three claw marks coming down from his temple, and a scar's just as bad as a tattoo when it comes down to how tough you wanna look. All in all, he gives me the heebie-jeebies.

 _I wonder where he could have got a horrible scar like that…_

 _A bear? No, because there's no way he would've survived an attack from a bear no matter how tough he looks._

 _A rabid dog maybe… That's probably more likely._

 _But what if it wasn't an animal?_

 _What if it was something else, like a car accident?_

 _But the lines are too symmetrical... too perpendicular… to be a coincidence._

Before I let my mind wander too deep into the puzzling thought, I reach for my notebook so I can copy down the history notes on the board. Blindly, I move my hand down to the bench under my chair where my books are _supposed_ to be, but no matter where I glide my fingers, I can't find my damn things. With an irritated grunt, I glance down to inspect what's going on. Emerald eyes widen in astonishment when they see that there aren't any books under my desk at all! They're just gone! Frantically, I scan everywhere around me, thinking that I only misplaced them without realizing it.

They aren't here! Where could they be?! I know I brought them to class because this morning I had to gather them back up into my arms when George and RV tripped me in the hallway…

 _Being Punctual is something I pride myself in, more so than anything else I do. I haven't been late to class since that one time in fifth grade when the hall monitor stopped me short from entering the classroom because I ran to get to class on time. When I tried to tell him that, he just ignored me and wrote me up to the principal. Unexpectedly, I didn't get into too much trouble… I remember I got a serious lecture from the schools secretary and my parents on how important it is to get to class on time without endangering my life and others by running through the hallways._

 _Not that I really listened to them. I know it's ideal to be timely, but that day didn't stop me from running, if anything it gave me motivation to continue._

 _That's why I'm trying to hurry as fast as I can to my next class, history, and make a good impression. Tardiness isn't a very Shangri-la quality to show your betters, after all. Speed walking, I round a corner at the end of an almost abandoned part of the school. Just as I came into the new corridor, I felt my shoulders grabbed by a pair of big hands. "Where you headed, Shan?"_

 _Uh oh… I know that raspy voice anywhere, and it's not something I want to hear right now. I try to make a break for it, but the hold on my shoulder tightens to a painful degree and pulls me back before slamming me into a nearby locker. My books fall to the floor forgotten when the handle of said locker digs into the small of my back, and if I take a wild guess, I'm pretty sure a huge purple and blue bruise is gunna flaw my pale skin by the time I'm home._

 _George is the one who held me against the locker, but RV is to my right standing still and not bothering to take part in George's mundane activities. Although, he looks a little upset, and I figure it's because George told him to stand back for this one, but I can see the predator gleam in RV's eyes. He wants me all to himself so he can tear me limb from limb… thank god George doesn't give him the opportunity._

 _I don't bother to ask what they want from me since I know the only answer I'll get is a punch to the gut, so I remain quiet even as I'm forcefully pushed back against the locker. "Listen, Shan, and listen good." George hissed into my ear. I don't dare turn my head from this goon incase he takes offense and in turn retaliates. "We got something for ya, and man, is it awesome. You're just gunna love it!"_

 _"Yea, you're gunna really like this, Darren." RV agrees with a madman's voice ten times creepier than George's could ever be—a voice similar to that of a hyena's laugh and an intelligent man's tone when he talks of solar flares. It's a cross between reality and lunacy, which makes it by far the most ominous sound in the world._

 _"So meet us after school at the old fire hall on Young Avenue… You know the place?"_

 _I nod my head in affirmation before he throws me to the floor and walks away with RV trailing behind him. I'm left by myself to pick up my belongings, but really I expected no less. Once I'm sure I have everything gathered in my arms, the way they were prier to this harassment, I start jogging to my history class and shake my head of the recent events. I'm not going to let this get to me, I swear it._

 _I WON'T LET THOSE IDIOTS WIN!_

The first thing I notice when I look up at Steve is he's looking back at me, the second is the knowing smirk on his face, and the third is my books on his desk. My books… are on _his_ desk. I send him the nastiest glare I can manage through all my surprise and mouth off, "what are you playing at, Steve?" Incredibly, my tone remains smooth and doesn't rise even as my anger and confusion do.

He doesn't answer me, instead his smirk grows larger and he just stares at me as if he didn't hear what I said. "What are you doing? Give me my stuff back, you… you…" I trail off abruptly after he flicks a paper football in my direction, landing square in the center of my lap. I look curiously at the thing and pick it up. What would compel him to toss this at me…? I examine it and see the words 'unfold me' written in Steve's unorthodox handwriting on the back.

Taking a peek at Steve, who urges me on with his eyes, I can't help but be suspicious of what's inside. Knowing Steve it's probably some verbal threat to not bother him in class, but isn't that what he's doing right now? So, maybe that's out of the question…

Carefully, I unfold the paper and spread it out on my desk before reading it.

'F _ire hall. Tonight.'_

Still seething with ever-growing rage, I turn my head to Steve, who's still attentive to me, possibly calculating my reaction, and nod my head much like I did to George earlier. There's no denying the inevitable, Steve has won yet again and I can't do anything about it. I just have to play into his hands and see where it takes me…

"Mr. Shan, I do believe I told you not to talk to your classmates while I am up here teaching. Hand me the note, and you and Mr. Leonard have detention." Anguish clouds my heart, turning it blue at the uncertainty. If Mr. Creepsley, as I've now decided to refer to him, sees the note he'll report it to the principal, Steve'll get in trouble, and in sequence he'll send George and… RV after me! Honestly, I think I would rather face the red-heads wrath over Steve's, but should I really rip up the note and throw it in the trash so no one, especially Mr. Creepsley, can see it or should I give the paper to our teacher, anyway, and hope to god he doesn't get Steve into trouble?

 _Why am I always the one to be faced with these kind of conflicts?!_

I decide that facing Steve is much worse than facing Mr. Creepsley will ever be, but I can't bring my respectful self to rip up the pint-sized note so I stand up as slowly as I can manage and walk down the isle of desks to the front of the classroom. I stop for a split second, before stumbling the rest of the way across the debilitated, green carpet to come to a standstill when I reached the teacher, who stands quietly by the chalkboard, eraser still in hand, waiting for me.

With a gulp, I have the urge to look back at the blonde haired moron who got me into this mess, but I dislodge the feeling from my body and stand with my back to him. Steve's probably fuming back there in his seat as much as I'm worrying up here. I present the letter to him, and to my relief he doesn't check to see what it says. Instead, he crumbles it up, as I wished I had done, and chucks it into the trashcan by his chair.

A gigantic sigh of relief threatens to leave my throat, but I harshly force it back into my lungs. If I let him see how much I didn't want him to look at it, he would get apprehensive and most likely read it even though he already threw it away. "You may go sit back down. Do not let me catch another note in your possession. I was not kidding when I said I won't put up with any childish nonsense, so detention for both of you after school and do not be late, am I clear?"

He's talking to us both, and hinting at the class not to take an example from us, but the way he's only looking at me, I have a feeling that I'm going to faint under the pressure. In the last thirty minutes I've been subjected to so much terror and worry and anger that I feel as if my body's going into hyper drive and there isn't anything I can do to prevent it. If things like this keep happening, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it! "Crystal…" I stammer.

When I change about to go back to my seat, I chance a look-see at Steve, and realize that he's as relieved as I am, and perhaps a bit angry, but I don't blame him for being. He almost got into a serious mess because of me. I also see that my stuff is back on my desk, he must've put it back while Mr. Creepsley was distracted by me. Well, if anything at least I got my crap back.

The rest of the class went by quickly and silently, not a soul dare to utter one word after what happened to Steve and me, and hell, I wouldn't either if I was an onlooker. But I'm not just an onlooker… I'm the kid it happened to. I'm the kid who just got detention for passing notes in class. What will my mother say?

Waiting by the Chemistry 1 door next to the janitors supply closet for my girlfriend to get out of class, I can't stop contemplating what detention will be like. _Detention-_ a bunch of brawny, hardass troublemakers who wear steel-toed boots and baggy clothes and carry around pocketknives and cigarettes. _Detention-_ a supervising gym teacher who makes you run laps around the library bookshelves the entire time you're there. _Detention-_ somewhere I don't wanna be!

But I did wrong, I guess, even if it wasn't me who wrote the damn message. I should've just stuffed the thing in my pocket to read later—after class—but with everything that involves Steve, I was compelled to do it. Like the impulse to blink your eyes or something. It… just… happened.

Debbie comes strolling out of chemistry with her books in hand, and a Doony and Berk purse slung over her shoulder. To me, a purse is just a purse, so I don't understand what's so special about name brands, but she loves their collection. Some of the purses she gets are so weird, I don't know what to make of them, but the one she has now looks good with her green silky shirt and boot-cut jeans.

Her curly hair is pinned up in a gold headband, and wow, does it look amazing on her. I don't believe I could ever stop admiring this girl's semblance. "Hey, Dar." She says whilst kissing my cheek. I'm only taller than her by an inch or two, so its relatively easy for her to reach me. A couple years ago, when we first started dating, she was taller than me, but I, like all other high school boys, had a growth-spurt.

"Hi, Deb, how was science?" I inquire as I snake my arm around her shoulders instinctively, and start walking her to our last class of the day—eighth period Algebra 2.

"Oh, as exciting as ever." I can pick up the sarcasm threading through her words, so I let out a chuckle. "We didn't even do anything except listen to the teacher lecture us from the very beginning of class! I mean, it's cool that we didn't have to take notes or copy down an agenda or something, but even that would've been more _exciting._ " Even her complaints sound cute spewing from her full lips.

"Where as I, on the other hand, had to copy down notes all period… and I got detention." The last part I try to say low enough so she doesn't catch on, but the comical glint in her eyes tells me she understood the moment it left my mouth.

"You, Darren Shan, goody-two-shoes of all nerds, got detention? This story, I have to hear." So, in the two minutes we have left to get to our math class on time, I fill her in as best I can. I tell her about how Steve sat next to me and passed me a note, but I didn't tell her about George and RV, or how Steve took my books, or what exactly the note said… but everything else I kind of skimmed over so she could get a basic idea. It's not exactly a lie, so I don't feel bad about it, but it isn't the truth either so I hope she doesn't ask questions.

I take a seat next to Sam, my best friend, and start talking about what happened, only unlike with Debbie, I don't leave anything out. Since she's across the room with her friends, I don't even worry about her over hearing us. "No way!" He exclaims in a whisper. "You can't go there, you'll be playing right into their trap, Darren!"

"I _have_ to, Sammy, or they'll never leave me alone. Besides, what if they know some big secret about me and if I don't show up, they'll tell everyone!"

"What big secret would you have, Darren Shan?"

"Oh, I don't know, dude… I was just saying. They were really persistent about it, so it's gotta be something super important. I don't want to go, but I have to."

"Well… alright, but I'm going to."

"Thanks, man, I'll probably need all the help I can get."

 **XOXOXO**

Well, here's the very first chapter. I like how it's moving along, but tell me what you think. Does it need more emotion? More description? Better punctuation? Idk, you're the critics here lol. Have any questions? Wanna take a wild guess at what Steve's gunna do? Or do you just wanna tell me how bad/good I did?

Then leave a review, my fellow users. Your input inspires me to write and gives me ideas…

I love all of you amazing readers! And until next time, see you later!


	2. Chapter 2

**Ocean Rose: A Mafia Tale**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Detention**

 **August 18** **th** **, 2011**

 _Detention._

 _Detention._

 _Detention._

 _As I'm sitting here in detention on my FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, pretending to do honors Algebra 2 homework that I already have finished and instead am scribbling in my journal the word 'detention' all through it, I'm just glad that we didn't get a teacher who makes us run laps or write sentences about how we won't ever do any delinquency in class ever again or something lame like that. Nope, we got the senior English tutor to sub in for Mr. Kerr, the ninth grade physical science teacher because he had to leave right after school for some doctor appointment, who was originally supposed to be looking after us…_

 _Detention isn't at all what I thought it would be. Most of the kids are in here because of stupid reasons, like being late to class or forgetting to put on their nametag, but there are a few who are in here for some serious stuff, like smoking joints in bathrooms or sexing it up in the janitors closet. If I were to look around, I wouldn't see as many hardcore teenage criminals as I foresaw when I imagined what this place would be like._

 _Everybody's pretty quiet, even the girl sitting on the table in the corner talking away on her pink Iphone, and the guy leaning against the wall with his audible, skull and crossbones headphones. I have to wonder why the teacher hasn't scolded them yet, but that's only a small agitation in the back of my head right now. In fact, the silence, no matter how welcoming, is driving me insane. Even the sun, shining through the glass roof of the cafeteria with the intensity of a spotlight on stage, is becoming a nuisance, no matter how warm and vivacious._

 _To top all the craziness off, Steve, who thankfully sat very, very far away from me, is ignoring me… like Civics 101 never happened._

"Sh-" I think I hear someone muttering behind me, but I pay no mind to it because this journal entry is very important to me—er, more important than these people in detention… no, that still sounds so superficial.

 _Sam agreed to accompany me to the fire hall tonight… the damn fire hall. I know it hasn't been used in a while, but did Steve really have to pick it, of all places, to harass me? It's right in the middle of a block of houses, so if I scream loud enough someone's bound to hear me… and the building is so old… it should've been torn down years ago. If we meet in there, it could very well collapse with us inside—_

Hands clasped my right clothed shoulder, startling me into awareness. Before I even glance up to see who's interrupted my writing, I slam my journal closed and stuff it into my nearby backpack. There are many things I firmly believe in, privacy being one of them, so I don't need someone reading right over me my personal thoughts straight out of my diary. Especially—wait, the person who disturbed me is none other than Steve Leonard… again. Didn't he bother me enough in history? What does he want now—I stop myself from complaining any more because I was just irritated that he was ignoring me, so I have no idea why I keep discombobulating myself.

I look up at him from my seat expectantly. "I've been trying to grab your attention for, like, fifteen whole minutes. Where are you?" He inquires curiously.

At first, I'm confused; I've been here the entire time, but then I understand. I hadn't realized I was so spaced out when I was writing, but that's when I write my best—like I'm in my own creative, brain-storming zone. "That's none of your business, I'm sure." Spite intertwines with my words. One thing I'm positive about is that I'll never forgive Steve for always being an ass to me, so I let him hear it through my voice, and hopefully he catches on.

"Come on, Shan, don't be like that." By the smirk on his face as he pulls up a chair next to me, I can clearly see that he is joking, but I have a feeling he has a hidden agenda—actually, it's more of an intuitive fact than just a guess. Steve doesn't do things unless it's beneficial to him in some way or another.

I take a deep, drawn-out breath and let it out in one sentence, "what do you want, Steve?"

I realize I always call Steve by his name up front, and even in my head, that's how he's known… yet whenever addressing me, he uses my last name more often than not. I can't say I mind, the effect is that it puts some sort of barrier between us—a barrier I wouldn't be able to build if it was just me—and I'm grateful for it because it keeps us distant. It's how I've survived and coped with Steve's backstab. No emotions but hatred pass through said wall, no words except remote insults, and no looks but heated glares. These things are how I've got along so well without my best friend.

Still, no matter how calling Steve by his last name would end up, I can't say it. I can't put up more of a wall than there already is. I can't separate us… we were friends glued at the hip when we were younger. In all reality, I don't think it's fair how things turned out, I shouldn't have to hate the one person that's supposed to stay by my side through thick and thin.

"There's been… a change of plans." His head is resting in his pale palm that's carefully placed on top of the lunch table. Crystal hues glance down at me as if I've just made a snide comment that he has to correct. Expecting me to ask him what he means, as if I care, is a huge mistake because I am not giving him that satisfaction. Instead, I raise my eyebrows at him, and when he still doesn't answer me, I turn away to gaze out one of the many huge windows to my left.

"Don't ignore me, Shan!" Steve hisses through gritted teeth, which is all that warns me of his anger before I'm forced to turn towards him. I'm gripped by the collar of my forest green T-shirt, and dragged up to him until we're only inches apart. He's too far into my comfort zone and it's making me very uncomfortable! My face heats up, whether in fear, embarrassment, or discomfort, I'm not sure. The blush starts at the sides of my nose and tickles out to the edge of my cheekbones.

Snarls of aggravation echo around the room, entering my ears, and ghosting across my face. Deeply inhaling, I tried to keep my anxiety under lock and chain, but this close proximity is only making it worse. "Do you want to know or not?!"

Of course I want to know, I just can't speak with you so close! Don't yell at me for the way this is affecting me! It's all your fault! I can't get any of this out, however, so I opt for purely nodding, but a blush is still scorching my face so I avert my eyes to the ground next to Steve's old PF flyers. They're dark, just like his soul.

His pearly teeth are still flashing in my face by the time he finally releases me, but those just as quickly die down. Settling back down in my chair trying to get a bit of stability, I steal a quick look up at my blonde rival. His expression has morphed into one of unsuppressed superiority, to which I feel slightly intimidated. "The first floor in the fire hall on Young's Avenue is flooded—has been for a while is what I'm told—so we've switched the location."

Interest peaked, I asked, "to where?"

Smirking he replied, "remember when we were kids and we got tickets to go see that traveling freak show?" When I shook my head in affirmation, he continued, "the old play theatre that they performed in is where I expect you to be tonight." The totally serious command in the way he said it was enough to make me wet myself, but so I don't peg myself as a fool, I contain my bodily fluids.

With terror audible in my voice, I gulp out an 'okay.' "Good," he retorts. "I'll see you later, loser."

Steve makes his way back to his original seat, and the rest of detention passes by quickly and quietly. The substitute teacher doesn't do anything to reprimand the defying teenagers, and perhaps it's for the best… we ourselves don't even know how violent we can become when put on the spot. Besides that, I don't think that subs are even supposed to punish the students, although I'm not sure if that's really true.

Because of my afterschool penalty, I have a feeling Sam didn't stick around to wait for me. This is fine, because now I can walk to his house by myself and contemplate about everything that's happened. Steve and me haven't talked since the sixth grade… since I've started dating Debbie. By all means, it was not a peaceful end to our friendship. Steve took it hard; he didn't want me hanging around Debbie for reasons I've yet to fathom.

In his eyes, I guess Debbie is a bad influence, but it's clear that if anyone is the bad influence, well, it's a dead give away who it would be. In our relationship, Steve's always been the… eccentric one. He's always on top of the world and ready to take on whatever life throws at him, but that's expected from someone who comes from his background. He hasn't had it easy that's for sure, especially when he was younger and his dad walked out on him and his mom.

The complete opposite of my blonde yang friend, I was always the kind-hearted nerd boy that sat in the front of the class, and raised my hand up into the air with an excited passion when the teacher asked a question and I knew the answer. Despite all that, I seriously kicked some ass on the soccer field—still do—but since I was so outspoken, a lot of times people would throw all that to the wind and I'd get made fun of anyway. Steve would stick up for me quite a bit, even going as far as to beat up the kids that picked on me, in a way he was my savior.

Nowadays, after all the drama with my girlfriend, Steve doesn't save me anymore. And really, it's not like I want him to… it's just that going from being my best friend to being the bully that sends his lackeys to assault me is a bit extreme and isn't easy to take in. It feels so much like betrayal, but wasn't that what I did to him? Maybe he's just trying to get back at me, but I don't know… maybe he really does want to see me break down under his harsh treatment.

Knowing him, he would get a massive kick out of it.

Nighttime is fast approaching, and while it isn't here quite yet, the temperature is dropping significantly and my visibility is narrowing. I hadn't anticipated receiving detention, so I hadn't packed a flashlight or a heavier coat. It's my own fault, but damn, I didn't think it'd be this bad.

I still have a while to walk yet before I get to Sam's place, so I wrap up snug in my windbreaker, arms crossed over my chest as tight as they can go with my backpack's shoulder straps in the way, and watch my feet as I tread forward in silence.

Huffs of frozen moisture escape from my lips as it gets even colder, and I listen to the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, for it's the only noise around except the buzz of deafening silence. All of a sudden, I feel a gaze pierce through the middle of my back. With jerky movements, I twist around to scan the immediate area, but there's nothing of suspicion as far as I can see. The silvery glow of the moonlight can hardly cast any of its rays because snow filled clouds cover the vast expense of the dark blue sky.

Cautiously, I turn away and start walking again. There are a handful of community buildings—stores, the police station, town hall, and the post office—that I pass on my way to my friends house, but they are few and far between, making it almost impossible to feel safe while walking alone with an eerie feeling of being watched hanging over my head. Sure, there are houses… but they're filled with strangers who could just as easily slam the door in my face as gesture me into their homes, whereas a shop couldn't stop me from coming in—as long as it's open—and there would be multiple people present to witness any crime.

Crime… why is it that certain crimes make us quake in fear, while others are brushed off as if it's not a problem? If a guy takes revenge on a bastard mafia member who killed his wife, it's looked upon as a murder and he gets sent to jail with a lot of conflicting publicity because it's a big deal; but if a guy robs an old woman who has no family or friends, nothing but the clothes on her back and an old pet dog as the only thing she has for protection, sure people feel sorry for her, but to them… as long as it wasn't they who were robbed, they don't care. They don't give a fuck as long as it doesn't affect them.

So, maybe the fact that there aren't a lot of places of refuge to run to if I get into some serious trouble doesn't scare me as much as I thought it did. By all means I'm still terrified, but knowing that even if I call upon the public to assist me in escaping any harm that they could easily ignore me… I guess I just needed some time to clear my mind of the fright I had.

Sammy's, he hates when I call him that, house is getting closer by the second, and I'm so near the brink of paranoia that I'm tempted to break out in a sprint and run the rest of the way to the damnable sanctuary I so desperately need. I don't do it, though, I can conquer this feeling all on my own without resulting in drastic measures. Or so I think. When I hear a trashcan knocked over in an alley to the left of me, I pause where I am to peer into the darkness. When I see nothing, yet have a feeling that there's something there smiling at me in a creepy cashire cat grin, I stumble back into the vacant roadway and take off, heart pounding against my ribcage.

Something weird is going on tonight, and I might not know what it is, but I am not sticking around to find out.

My footsteps echo down the street, a stray car passes by and pays no mind to me. Despite how cold it is I'm sweating, whether from fear or exertion I'm not sure, but it's pouring down my face and blinding me even more than the black abyss of nighttime. I've been running for so long that my destination is just around the corner, yet it seems too far away to keep exhausting myself.

Pants of ruthless inhaling enter the air, and my legs cease their quick movements. I bend forward, trying to regain my breath, placing my hands on my knees. My pack, filled to the brim with books and homework, had beaten against my back with every bounce I made, and I'm starting to feel a bruise forming.

Now's not the time to think about that, however.

Something is chasing me.

I can _feel_ it.

The fear traps my words in my throat with its bone-chilling grasp, almost as if a dead person's freezing appendages have grabbed hold of my neck and are squeezing the very life right out of me. Just a few more yards and I'll be inside Sam's home, but I can't get my legs to walk the rest of the way… I can't move.

It's going to get me.

Whatever it is, it's laughing at me… it knows I'm afraid.

The hand around my neck releases, but it doesn't help my wellbeing at all because I start to hyperventilate. I clutch my chest in panic.

"Dar?" I jump back in shock at the undistinguished voice, but a hand places itself on my back. Suddenly, the weight that's been on my being since I started walking is lifted with just the one, simple touch. "Darren, what are you doing out here? Are you alright? You don't look too good."

After another moment of heavy breathing, I answer, "Yeah, I'm okay… I just ran… here."

He laughs sharply at me, and comments, "that scared of the dark, eh?"

"You have no idea…"

Dread. Dread contrasts with the relief I feel. Sam rescued me from the slow collapse I was about to face in the middle of his mysteriously blackened yard. There is still little to no moonlight shining through the clouds, but I can see the front porch light across the way. I grab up Sam's chuckling form and make my way through the darkness and into the light. "Come on, Sam. We got places to be."

"That we do." He states as he opens the wooden front door, letting me go in ahead of him. I've been here so much that I don't waste time standing in the doorway, and start towards Sam's room. Somewhere through the kitchen and up the stairs is where it's located, but I can't think of exactly how to get there right now, I just let my legs carry me. I open his anime poster-covered door to reveal a typical teenage bedroom in all it's disgusting glory.

His walls are painted a neutral pale green color—one that I love—but it's very hard to tell because he has posters and photo's hanging so that there isn't a single space uncovered. Halloween trinkets—plastic spiders, gooey snakes, skeletons and skulls and bones, and bats—are taped up along with the pictures, basking the room in a disturbing atmosphere. The furniture is some kind of dark, almost black, wood, and goes perfect with his grey bedspread and washed out carpet.

I place my stuff on the abandoned cot in the corner next to the closet. The cot is barely big enough for one person, but that doesn't stop Sam from keeping it just where it is. After I'm sure I've taken off everything valuable that I may have on me so in the case that something unexpected happens Steve can't take anything from me, I head into Sam's private bathroom.

The sight I'm greeted with in the mirror above the sink is… troubling. Black rings have formed around my eye, which had sunken from fear during my epidemic just a few short minutes ago. My skin is awfully pale and clammy, and shivers rack my body. You've had a scare, but it's time to man up, Shan. You're going to be facing Steve soon, and you can't let him get to you.

With trembling arms, I reach out to the crystal and silver handle to turn on the faucet. After it warms up, I cut my hands under the gushing stream of water to collect it, then splash it onto my sweaty skin. A shower would feel so nice right now, but I can't take one yet. Steve will be expecting me at the theatre soon, so I have to get ready.

Taking many deep breaths to calm myself down, I splatter some more scorching water onto my sensitive face, cringe, then turn off the tap and search with blind eyes and wandering hands for something for which to dry off. When I finally wrap my fingers around one of Sam's green, fluffy towels, I wipe down my red, irritated face carefully. The less aggravated the flesh on my face, the better.

Seeing as how I was perspiring from every pore in my body not ten minutes ago, a change of clothes is necessary. After my face is completely dry, I make it my goal to get my wobbly legs over to the one dresser Sam owns. I open up the second drawer down and pull out a silky coral dress shirt. That's no good for a midnight rendezvous where the need to flee might take part, so I stuff it back in and go to a different drawer. I bring out a pair of dark green skinny jeans and a light brown sweater to pull over a wifebeater or something that I'll find somewhere else. Once I have all the pieces, I frantically change into them and look around for my brown high-tops.

Concluding that they're most likely down stairs, on my way down I call out for Sam, wherever he is. When I hear him call back in a muffled mixture of words, I know he mustn't be far. I first check the living room, where I spot my shoes by the entrance, but no Sam to go with them. My next choice is the kitchen, and thank god for that because he's in there and appearing to engorge himself with food. "What're…" I trail off as I try to juggle speaking and balancing on one foot to put my shoes on all at once.

"Eat up, Darren. Might as well make your last meal worth while." It was a sentence that should've been laced with seriousness, should've been a foreshadowing into the future, but the way he said it, the grave announcement of truth is hidden under the light, humorous tone that belongs to Sam. In other words, when it should've had me scared shitless, I was cracking a smile at how exaggerated he's making things, blowing them way out of proportion.

I let a full-blown smile sneak its way onto my face for the very first time today, then take the extra orange floral pattern bowl that Sam must've been gracious enough to retrieve from the cupboard next to the refrigerator and fill it up with our favorite cereal, chocolate cheerios. Damn, these mediocre, donut-shaped munchies are the best fucking thing in the world. If for some reason the most random reason ever came about for a zombie apocalypse, I could live on nothing but chocolate cheerios… I wouldn't need anything else.

The milk is still out, as well, so after I fill my bowl to the brim with cereal, I make compensation for the milk. I can't say it's the best meal I've ever had… maybe for breakfast, but it isn't even morning. I'm had tons of better, more appetizing things—like homemade pasta or chicken potpie. I can say, though, that it is the most thrilling, but I have to say that because it's possibly the last food I'll ever eat again.

When most of the cereal is gone, I start to feel full, but I carry on eating and shove the rest of it down. Sam's done, has been for a while, but after I finish we just sit at the table. A serene silence wafts around the room, not uncomfortable, yet it carries with it thoughts on what might happen tonight.

"Are you ready?" I break through the silence quietly.

After a seconds pause, he replies, "As ready as I'll ever be."

Practically at the same time, we turn to each other from our parallel spots and give each other a big smile. I know what we're both thinking. _It's now or never,_ and never isn't an option where Steve's concerned. "Then let's head out."

And leave we did. Sam and me cleared off the table, leaving the dishes in the sink for his mother. The box of chocolate cheerios went back into the pantry and the milk in the chilly fridge. Sam is smart enough to bring out two heavy jackets from the coat closet so that we don't freeze our asses off outside this time. My camo-clad friend finishes putting on his black sneakers, then we're both out the door heading to the old theatre.

It's been a long time since I've been there; in fact, I haven't been to or passed by it since the night of the freak show all those years ago, so I almost have no clue how to get there. I remember a few road markers, signs, houses that Steve and me went by on our way there, and I hope to god that I wont get us lost, but that's… probably a lost cause. I'll try my best, though, because there's nothing else I can do.

If I thought it was dark before, it's got to be at least eight o'clock by now. When I look up at the sky, I can see the millions of shining stars and a vibrant moon, almost full, to my left, so I know that the clouds must have moved on by now. Suddenly, the idea of walking out here in the cold doesn't faze me anymore. Sam's right next to me, the silver rays from the sky are shining… things are starting to look a little better. Even with Steve on my mind.

Still… the silence is haunting my subconscious. I try to break it by starting a conversation with Sam, but… my words never form, for at that very moment I feel… I feel the eyes again. They're everywhere around me, piercing through my body.

 _What do they want?_

 _Why are they watching me?_

 _Where are they coming from?_

 _Who's doing this!?_

My breath hitches, and my heart beats with a fast ferociousness, but I try as hard as I can to not panic. I don't want to worry my friend, yet by the looks of it, he's already noticed that something's bothering me. "Are you okay, Darren?" He asks in a tone laced with concern, which is enough care to have me falling to my knees, but I stand my ground. I can handle the looks, so I can handle Sam, no sweat. At least, that's what I think. I absolutely don't want Sam to fret over me, however, so I straighten up. _Perfect posture_ , I tell myself, _then calm my breathing and look at him with a brave face_.

"I'm fine." I exhale tightly. The strain in my voice matches the tenseness of my muscles.

"You don't… sound fine." Damn Sam and his nosy curiosity. I was about to tell him to snod off, but a strange shift in the air, perhaps only the wind but uncanny all the same, swooshes by us barely blowing our hair… barely leaving an impact, yet it still… it still…

"Don't you feel it?" My voice is just a whisper, I don't want to risk upsetting something that need not be tampered with, and yet there's not a thing around to be upset.

After a pause, he takes a step away from me as if he's afraid of what I've said. "Feel what?" Hah, what a stupid question, he knows what I'm talking about. I can't be the only one feeling these creepy vibes coming from… coming from all around me. Haunting… Haunting… Haunting…

Piercing, horrendous screeching comes from somewhere far off, startling us out of our trance. Now, any normal, scared person would turn their backs on the damsel in distress and high tail it out of there as quickly as their trembling legs could carry them, but Sam and me are different. We're far from normal, both of us firmly believing that normal is overrated, and we're as brave as two small town teenage boys can be, but we're also compassionate and extremely stupid, heroic and stubborn, so instead of running away with our tails between out legs, we head straight for the noise.

"Where'd it come from?!" I yell to Sam through deep gasps of breath.

He points toward an alleyway at the end of the block, and I almost fright over what could be happening in the dank, dark passage like that, but desperation to save whoever screamed for help compelled me to keep up with Sam, who had already convinced himself to keep moving. "This way," he called.

We stop at the mouth of the alley, trying to see into it through all the shadows, but we can't see a goddamn thing. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, I step one foot into the darkness… and wait. When nothing happens, I take another step, and this time Sam follows. Inch by inch, we come into the path. "Can you see anything?"

I squint my eyes, trying to focus them more, but I still can't see anyone. "Naw, it looks like no one's here."

He releases a breath he must've been holding since we entered the alley, "Maybe the girl got away."

"…Yeah, you're probably right. Come on."

Almost as soon as I finish my sentence, there's a crash behind us. Startled, we pivot our bodies until we're facing the way we came from, and to our mutual surprise there's someone blocking off our passage.

We don't dare move.

There's a huge probability that this man is the one who hurt the woman.

But when we hear movement behind us, we're forced to turn once again to look back, and sure enough there's another man, a little taller and fatter than the one at the entrance. I can't make out specific features, but their silhouettes stick out like a neon glow through the night.

"Well, well, well," the one behind us says, and I can't help but think I know that voice. By the time I realize it's wrapped in icy laughter, the name of the person who owns that voice materialized in my mind. I scoff when he finishes saying, "who would've guessed we'd meet you out here, Shanny boy."

"What's he doing out here?!" Sam hiss is directed at me, although I know his anger isn't.

I remain silent. George and RV have us surrounded, and they could easily take us both out in one hit, so I don't want to get on their bad side.

As they come closer, Sam and me huddle together, scared out of our wits, grasping onto each other. This only makes their cockiness grow stronger while they laugh at us. "Look at the two asswipes cowering together at our feet, Georgey. Look at 'em squirmin' like bugs."

George takes this opportunity to grab me by the caller of my shirt and slam me into the brick wall to my right, making my head slam back onto the building. Colorful spots plague my vision and I groan out in protest when he drags me forward to slam me back against the wall again. My head rolls forward in collapsed pain, for I'm borderline passed out. If he does it just once more, I know I'll enter the world of unconsciousness.

As I brace myself for another impact, I hear Sam's cry of pain, and it jolts me to full awareness. With all the might I can muster, I kick out at George, but he deflects my leg and punches my sharply in the gut. All the air forces itself from my lungs, and I stumble onto the ground trying to catch my breath again. That only leaves an opening for George to kick me in the side.

Throughout the whole ordeal I don't even think of my pain, I think of Sam's. I'm used to George and RV's bullying, but Sam isn't, and he cried out. For all I know, as crazy as RV is, he could've pulled out a knife and shanked him!

I try to get up so I can run to Sam and help him get out. Even if I have to bear myself to our attackers to get him out safe and alive, I have to stand up and get him out of here! Shit, Darren, GET UP!

XOXOXO

Please tell me what you think!


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